Betrayal
by wildchild17
Summary: "Aragorn opened his eyes wearily to the cruel laughter of the Orcs, and to the ever-familiar throbbing pain throughout his body, and he knew, without a doubt, that he was entirely and unquestionably alone."/ When Legolas loses his temper with the young Ranger, the consequences are disastrous and could change the fate of all Middle Earth… Will it be Aragorn who pays the price?
1. Prologue

**A/N: The first LOTR fic I've posted here, so please be nice - I know this is pretty short but if I get a good response for it, more will follow soon. If you haven't already gathered, this is going to be a pretty torturous story for Aragorn, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, that's fine. I do, though... probably have an unhealthy addiction to it, actually...**

**Summary: **

**"Aragorn opened his eyes wearily to the cruel laughter of the Orcs, and to the ever-familiar throbbing pain throughout his body, and he knew, without a doubt, that he was entirely and unquestionably alone."/ When Legolas loses his temper with the young Ranger, the consequences are disastrous and could change the fate of all Middle Earth… Will it be Aragorn who pays the price?**

* * *

In the dream, Aragorn saw Legolas.

It was with that strange, sharp clarity that told him this was not just a dream, but was actually happening or would happen somewhere, at some time.

Legolas rode forwards towards the house – Imladris, Aragorn realised with a jolt. The first streaks of dawn were just painting the sky above the valley. It had been so long since he saw his home that he'd almost not recognised it.

The thought was hardly comforting.

As the elf dismounted and ran lithely up the steps, Lord Elrond came into view, his face strangely anxious. That alone made Aragorn worried – his father-in-all-but-blood rarely showed his emotions outwardly.

Reaching the top of the steps, Legolas hurried to meet Elrond. Though he couldn't hear what they were saying, and he seemed to be watching from afar, the distress on Legolas' face was plain. At the other elf's words, Elrond bowed his head, eyes full of despair quickly masked.

But Aragorn knew that if he had seen the expression on Elrond's face, Legolas would have done too. The two elves stood silently for a long while; Legolas' shoulders sagging as though he held the weight of the world upon them, Elrond keeping his head down to hide the emotion betrayed on his face.

Aragorn wondered what could possibly have happened to make them like this.

Suddenly, another elf ran out of the house. Long, wavy hair; pale, clear skin; the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. Arwen. Aragorn's heart sang.

She was speaking quickly, gesturing with her hands, obviously begging her father and Legolas for something. At last, Legolas shook his head and spoke. Even from such a distance away, it was easy to understand his words. _I'm sorry._

Arwen slapped him across the face.

This was so unexpected, so emotional, so utterly _not _Arwen, that Aragorn felt his body tense up, despite being asleep.

The most shocking thing was that Legolas did not react. The dejection and – was that _guilt_? – on his face was clear to see.

Elrond's head snapped up at the sound and anger flashed across his proud features. Aragorn remembered hazily that elves were generally a strictly peace-loving race between themselves, although he couldn't have said how he knew. Without another word, Arwen stormed away. Wearily, it seemed, Elrond watched her go, laid a gentle had on Legolas' shoulder and walked into the house after his daughter.

Legolas was left standing alone on the steps as the first light of the sun touched him. Desperately, Aragorn tried to call out to his friend, but he could feel himself waking. He wanted so badly to hold onto the dream.

Aragorn opened his eyes and groaned as something hard slammed into his side. He didn't have the strength to fight back. The pain assaulted him again, wave upon wave of it, blocking everything else out. When it became apparent that it was not going to fade, the Ranger gritted his teeth and focused on the cold, unfriendly world around him. Cruel laughter from the Orcs reached his ears. The comfort of the dream was long gone. No one was going to help him out of this one - not after everything he'd done, not after all the things they'd said.

He was alone.

* * *

**A/N: Review?**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: Next chapter, here we go. I'd love a review if you have time, it means so much to know whether my writing is any good.**

* * *

_Three weeks earlier_

"Come on, Estel!" Elrohir cried, tugging his human brother's arm. "You have to come. Ada says we can go."

"Legolas is much better now, and he's sick of being inside – the fresh air will do him good," Elladan added.

A week before, Legolas had succeeded in falling into a river, much to his companions amusement, and was swept downstream for a distance before he managed to climb out again. Although he was unharmed and at first seemed none the worse for his ordeal, it _was _the beginning of the cold time of the year, and the elf soon had a persistent cough. When he returned to Imladris, Lord Elrond has taken one look at him and, despite his loud protests ('I'm fine! Honestly, you're overreacting!'), confined him to the Houses of Healing.

Aragorn sighed. He dreaded to think what punishment his brothers would find for him if he didn't come hunting with them, but he really didn't want to go.

"I can't," he said for the millionth time. "You know I can't. The Elders are meeting here next week and they want to speak to me."

"Ah," Elladan smiled slyly and Aragorn's heart sank, "but we have spoken to Ada and he told us that you can speak to the Council _after _we get back."

Aragorn suppressed a groan. How was it that his brothers _always _found the holes in his excuses?

"Which means, dear brother, that you are coming with us," Elrohir concluded triumphantly. "Anyway, you—" He broke off suddenly, eyes widening and a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "Oh… _Arwen's _back in a few days, isn't she?"

Aragorn tried to ignore the fact that the tips of his ears were turning red, but in reality his brother had hit the nail on the head. Arwen was away, visiting her mother's people, and her absence was extremely noticeable – at least, it was to Aragorn. His heart warmed at the thought of Elrond's beautiful daughter, but the twins' sniggering brought him back to the present.

"Would you like something to wipe your mouth, Estel?" Elladan asked innocently. "You were drooling a little."

Aragorn swiped the elf's hand away and stood abruptly. "Don't be ridiculous, Elrohir," he said, striding quickly out onto the balcony of his room and staring out over the valley. "As if Arwen's return makes any difference to the matter."

The brothers laughed. "Somebody's in _love_," Elrohir teased in a sing-song voice.

"I am not!"

"Prove it, then. Come hunting with us."

The young Ranger sighed. He supposed he should have known better – growing up in Rivendell had eventually taught him that Elladan and Elrohir _always _got what they wanted, one way or another, no matter what the situation was. Apparently, that hadn't changed, despite the fact that they were all adults now. _Not that those two act like it_, Aragorn though to himself.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I'll come. How long are we going for, anyway?"

"Yes!" The twins punched the air victoriously. "Oh, about a week… Maybe longer. It depends if anything happens."

"Something _always _happens," the man pointed out.

Elladan grinned. "Well, perhaps this time it will be different. You never know. Meet you at the bottom of the steps two hours before sundown." The two elves were gone before Aragorn had time to protest.

"Yes," he groaned to himself. "You never know. That's the problem."

* * *

Several hours later, as promised, four horses rode out of Imladris. Each of them carried their own bedroll and blankets – it was cold enough that Elrond has insisted they brought them – and had a full waterskin, as well as a little food, just in case they couldn't catch anything. The three elves were armed with their huge, graceful bows (which Aragorn had always thought were far too beautiful to be so destructive a weapon) and arrows, as well as long knives, whereas the Ranger carried only a small, light bow and his sword. After all, he hadn't really come for the hunting, more the opportunity to spend time with his friends. And to prove to Elladan and Elrohir that he wasn't in love with Arwen – not that he would have admitted _that_, of course.

Aragorn smiled slightly to himself as he remembered his surrogate father's words to him before they left.

Elrond had taken him aside before they left and looked at him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"My son," he said at last, "please try not to do anything foolish this time. Elladan and Elrohir may be older than you in years, but sometimes they forget when taking a risk becomes stupidity. Look after Legolas." Aragorn had smiled and assured the elf that he would do his very best to keep them all out of trouble, but Elrond had frowned and shaken his head. "Keep yourself safe too, Estel," he had insisted. "One day, the fate of Middle Earth may rest upon your shoulders. You are more important than you know."

The Ranger's smile faded as those words ran through his mind again. _The fate of Middle Earth may rest upon your shoulders._ He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

They rode quietly throughout the remaining daylight hours, talking little, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Aragorn made sure to keep a close eye on Legolas, just as Lord Elrond had asked. By the time they came to the river where they were planning to camp, it was dusk, and the air was cold. Dismounting and murmuring quietly to their horses, the four companions stretched their aching muscles and began to make camp.

Reaching a hand out to Legolas' shoulder, Aragorn gently stopped him from lifting the heavy saddle from his horse. "You are tired, _mellon nin_," he said softly. "Do not strain yourself. I know you are not fully well."

Annoyance flashed across the elf's face, but Aragorn was not deterred. He could see how tired his friend was in the way his shoulders slumped slightly and the way he closed his eyes at every possible opportunity. Once or twice, the man had even thought Legolas had fallen asleep while riding.

"Let me do it, Legolas," he insisted, and at last the elf fell back with an almost imperceptible sigh. He sat down on a log as Aragorn freed the stallion of the saddle and bridle and put them down against a tree. "Come on, my friend," he said with a smile. "Elrohir and I will find some wood for a fire and catch a rabbit or two, if we can. You can cook."

Chuckling, Legolas got to his feet. "Is that an admittance that your cooking is terrible?"

"No!" Aragorn pretended to look insulted. "I am a very good cook, I'll have you know. I just like to experiment, that's all."

"I refuse to taste any more 'experiments', Estel." Elrohir crossed his arms. "Last time I was ill for a week."

"That was because you got shot with an arrow!"

"Excuses, excuses. Now come on, otherwise the sun will rise again before we have our dinner, and I have no wish to go hungry."

Mock scowling, Aragorn winked at Legolas and followed Elrohir into the trees.

* * *

It was dark in the forest, but the young Ranger was used to that. He knew Elrohir, with his strong elf eyes, would be able to see much better than he could, and therefore would be able to aim much better in the dark, but he wanted to try his luck anyway. It was always nice to succeed in something against his elf brothers.

Almost silently, the two crept through the trees and away from the camp. They did not need to speak. Within a few minutes, Aragorn had found a well-used game trail, and he quickly knelt and laid a trap a little way off the ground. In the morning, he would check it, and hopefully get them a rabbit or some other small animal.

Standing beside him, Elrohir suddenly stiffened. Aragorn's head snapped up, his grey eyes searching for the source of the danger. He could see and hear nothing in the trees. Not for the first time – in fact, probably more the hundredth time – he wished he had the senses of an elf.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Elrohir raised a hand and beckoned Aragorn to follow him. Together, they slipped across the trail and over the verge on the far side.

Crouched in the shadows, Aragorn stared at his brother, eyes clearly asking what was going on. The elf glanced up, paused, and opened his mouth to speak.

That was when it happened.

A huge, dark shape loomed out of the darkness behind them and a soft, menacing growl filled their ears. Simultaneously, the pair leapt up and spun round to face the attack; the man drawing his sword, the elf raising his bow.

Something flashed in Aragorn's peripheral vision, and the world went black.

* * *

**A/N: So yeah, hope you liked it, sorry it's so short. As I said before, this is going to be a pretty nasty story in Aragorn's case, I'm afraid. For some strange reason, it's always more fun to be horrible to the characters I like the most… Hmmm… Anyway, stay tuned and please leave a review!**


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I was practically dancing round the room when I saw how many people had followed this story – you're all amazing and totally awesome! I think I replied to everyone's reviews, please tell me if I didn't, I'm really sorry.**

* * *

Black spots danced in front of Aragorn's vision as a large, claw-filled paw whipped past, centimetres from his nose. He flinched.

Dimly coming to the conclusion that it must have been Elrohir who pushed him out the way, Aragorn groped blindly for his sword. It had slipped out of his hand when he blacked out, which he supposed he would have to forgive his brother for – after all, the elf _had_ saved his face from being messily redecorated. It had still hurt, though.

After what seemed like an age, cool metal met his fingertips and the Ranger leapt to his feet and into the fight. Elrohir was standing a little way in front of him, rapidly shooting arrows at the beast. Unfortunately, it seemed to be rather good a dodging them. From what Aragorn could make out in the semi-darkness, it was some kind of huge cat, a leopard perhaps. As he ran forwards, the elf abandoned his bow and unsheathed a knife.

"Estel," Elrohir nodded. His voice was grim, but there was a hint of light in his eyes that told Aragorn he was actually enjoying himself. "Are you alright?"

"Do not worry. You pushed me out of the way in time." The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "I think I'll have a lovely bump on my head by tomorrow. What's the plan?"

They both stared at the snarling creature, prowling from side to side in front of them. "No idea," Elrohir replied, allowing himself a grin. "How about we improvise?"

"Sounds good to me. Now!"

Just as the leopard sprang forward, the two dived aside. Aragorn was on his feet again in a second, stabbing and slashing like a demon. A savage roar filled the still night air as he managed a direct hit and he fell back, panting.

"Your turn," he gasped in the second before they rolled out of the way again.

It took only moments before Elrohir had succeeded in finishing off the beast. Aragorn watched, as always impressed by the grace with which the elf fought. It was like a dance, he thought, a pattern of movements almost too quick to follow and incredibly destructive.

Finally, his brother knelt beside the creature, his face filled with sadness. He was whispering quietly in Elvish, gently stroking its head, easing its passing into the next world. Aragorn did not need to hear the words to know what he was saying: _Be at peace, friend. You lived, you fought, you died well. Go with pride. _He had heard them many times before.

"Let us go," Elrohir said quietly, getting up. There was no glint of excitement in his gaze now, only sadness. The Ranger knew the elves hated unnecessary death, but really, he couldn't understand why there was any need to be sad about taking the life of something that had just tried to kill you. That, he supposed, was why he was a man, not an elf.

* * *

As the four of them sat around the small campfire an hour or so later, the only sound was the crackling of the flames and the occasional cry of a bird from the forest.

It hadn't taken long to explain what had happened, but the dead silence that had fallen now was completely unexpected to Aragorn. This wasn't the first time he'd been stuck with three depressive elves, but really, he just couldn't understand _why _they were so upset. After all, surely it was better that the leopard was dead than he and Elrohir?

At last, unable to stand it any more, Aragorn rose to his feet and grabbed a couple of the waterskins. "I'm going to fill these up," he said bluntly.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, with a sigh and an almost-smile, Elladan got up and reached for the last two bottles. "I will help you, Estel."

Together the man and the elf walked the short distance to the river. It was just out of sight of the camp, hidden through the trees, and the closeness of the forest meant that the sound was almost totally muffled until they got closer.

With a heavy sigh, Elladan knelt and dipped a waterskin into the rushing water. Aragorn gritted his teeth to stop himself groaning in annoyance, but even so, his brother seemed to sense something was wrong.

He looked up, solemn brown eyes searching the Ranger's face. "What is wrong, brother?" he asked.

Shaking his head, Aragorn began to fill one of the other bottles, his own. He hadn't got the easiest part of the bank to work from – a large rock meant he had to reach as far out as he could to get the fast-flowing water, which he knew was the best to drink from. "It doesn't matter, Elladan. I know you can't help it."

"Help what?" The water was cold. The first skin now full, Aragorn carefully put the top on and leaned out to fill the second.

"You're just – " He grunted and shuffled forwards, trying to get the bottle to fill as fast as possible. "You and Elrohir and Legolas – I mean, I know you hate killing things, but surely—" He gasped as the river bank beneath him gave way and he suddenly pitched forwards, getting a mouthful of icy water. Automatically, his arms flailed wildly as he tried to regain his balance, but he was already to far forwards.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed his shirt and yanked him backwards, landing him flat on his back.

"Breathe, Estel," Elladan said, his face tense. Aragorn coughed and spat a load of water out into the grass.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely, shaking water out of his hair.

"You need not thank me. This trip really had not started well for you, has it? Let us hope nothing else goes wrong. Are you alright?" When Aragorn nodded assent, the elf got up and moved back towards the river, this time staying well away from the edge. "I think Legolas' waterskin is gone for good, though, unless you wish to swim for it."

Aragorn cleared his throat slightly as he stood up, trying to get rid of the remaining water. "Was it his I had in my hand? He can have mine. He's not properly well yet, I can see it in his face. He's so tired all the time…"

Elladan smiled, properly this time. "I suppose Ada asked you to keep an eye on him?"

After a moment's pause, the Ranger nodded. "Yes, although I would've done anyway. We've ended up in trouble too many times when you and Elrohir have…" He trailed off, realising his words might have come across the wrong way, but if anything his brother's grin grew bigger.

"Ada doesn't trust us; I know _that_, Estel. I'm quite glad he doesn't. I mean, imagine the troubles we would have got into so many times if you and Legolas hadn't managed to stop us!" He laughed, the bright sound filling the dark forest night.

Aragorn grinned back, glad the elf's usual cheeky manner had returned. "We'd probably all be dead, you know. Remember that time with spiders, when we went with Ada to visit Legolas' father?"

"Unfortunately, yes, I do remember. And I entirely agree that we would be dead if Legolas hadn't known what to do." Elladan picked up the three waterskins and raised his eyebrows, gesturing back towards the camp. "Shall we go? You probably ought to warm up a bit."

"Of course." Aragorn smiled to himself as they walked back, remembering all the times the four of them had got into trouble. Lord Elrond had nearly gone spare over all the scrapes he'd had to get them out of, and with all the times he'd been left to patch them up after some crazy expedition had gone wrong.

"Oh, Estel?" Elladan's voice broke through Aragorn's reverie. The young man looked round. "About what you were saying before you fell in…" Aragorn felt the tips of his ears go red with embarrassment, but the elf continued before he could interrupt. "You are right when you say that we elves hate the killing of creatures of rarity and beauty, such as the leopard. But although it may seem to you that we are overreacting in our sadness, I think that it is also true that we cannot change who we are. So I would ask you to remember that the time may come when you would grieve for something that we would not, and you must accept this." His voice was serious, but he smiled slightly at the look on Aragorn's face. "Oh, Estel, I am not angry with you. Our time of sadness will pass; do not worry. I just want you to remember that none of us can change our nature. Now come, or you will freeze and I will have to explain to Ada that I let you die of cold after you fell in a river, which I do not want to do."

Elladan slipped away through the trees with a smile, leaving Aragorn thinking that it was times like this when his brother's age over him became apparent.

* * *

"Estel, I am not going to take your water. I am fine. Stop it," Legolas said, crossing his arms. In actual fact, he was feeling a lot less than fine, but he would never have admitted it. He had woken that morning with a thumping headache and feeling more tired than he had when he'd gone to bed, and it was beginning to have an effect on his mood.

"Don't be ridiculous. You fell in a river only a week ago and you've been under the care of the healers for days." Aragorn could see Legolas digging his heels in, but he was just as determined not to back down.

"You fell in a river _last night_!"

The man snorted derisively. "Hardly. I only got a faceful before Elladan pulled me out. You, on the other hand—"

"For goodness' sake, you two!" Elrohir interrupted, half laughing, half annoyed. "We've already had two near-disasters since we set off yesterday – we don't need you arguing over who gets to be the most _noble_. We're never going to get anywhere if we don't pack up and move out soon."

Despite their stubbornness, the pair could see that it really was time they did something other than argue. With a last frown at Aragorn, Legolas moved away and began to collect up the remains of their food left around the campfire. Waiting a moment until he was looking the other way, the young man glanced around furtively, winked at Elrohir and Elladan, and slipped the waterskin into the saddlebag on Legolas' horse. He grinned mischievously and began to gather up their bedrolls and blankets.

Half an hour later, just as the pale winter sun had come into sight above the trees. The birds chirped in the trees and frost glistened on the grass; the air was fresh and cold. It was one of the most beautiful mornings he'd ever seen, Aragorn thought to himself, as he had a last glance round to make sure nothing had been forgotten. Satisfied, he mounted up and cantered after the others, who were already almost out of sight down the path.

If only he'd looked a little closer, perhaps things would have turned out differently.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and the four friends began to think that this might actually be the _one _time nothing was going to go wrong. Of course, that was precisely when things started heading downhill.

Their hunting had been fairly successful – they had brought down a small deer and a couple of hares between them, and as the evening began to close in, they had stopped to make camp near a tiny stream.

Of all the group, Legolas had probably had the worst day of all of them. Though he hadn't mentioned it, his headache had become steadily more painful as they rode on, and he could feel his mood darkening with it. He hated feeling so _weak_.

Angrily, he dumped the wood he'd collected next to the stream, and turned to grab his waterskin. Then remembered Aragorn had dropped it in the river the night before. He scowled, knowing he was acting completely out of character, but unable to do anything about it.

Sighing heavily and trying not to lose his temper, the elf sank onto the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest. It was extraordinarily unusual for him to feel like this, he knew, but he also knew that there was very little he could do about it. And that if anyone came too close, he would be quite likely to bite their head off over something stupid.

"Legolas?" It was Aragorn. Legolas heard him stop, drop the wood he'd collected and run across the tiny clearing, falling to his knees beside his friend.

The young man's face was anxious. "_Mellon nin_, are you alright? Is your cough worse?"

Legolas gritted his teeth. _Don't snap at him. Don't._ "I am fine, Estel. Do not worry."

"Then why're you curled up like you're in pain?"

"I am merely a little tired, that is all. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Aragorn, stop it!" Legolas burst out. Immediately, Aragorn fell back, startled. The elf cursed himself for taking out his frustration on the young man. "I am sorry, Estel," he continued more quietly. "I have a small headache, that is all. I will be fine in the morning."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "It takes more than a _small_ headache to put an elf in such a bad mood, Legolas. I've got some herbs that'll help, here—"

"Really, Aragorn, I'm fine," Legolas interrupted, pushing his friend's hand away. Something in the elf's eyes told Aragorn not to push it.

Quietly, he got up and began to rummage through Legolas' saddlebags, obviously looking for something. Legolas couldn't be bothered to ask what he was doing. They both looked up briefly when Elladan and Elrohir returned with arms full of smaller bits of twig for kindling, but after a moment Aragorn continued his search.

At last, the Ranger seemed to give up and turned with a frown on his face. "Where is your bedroll, _mellon nin_?"

"In my saddlebag, is it not? I thought you collected them up before we left." The elf got to his feet and riffled briefly through the bags. Coming up empty-handed, he pursed his lips in annoyance. "You did pick it up, didn't you?"

Aragorn had quickly checked for the other three bedrolls and found them. He walked back over to Legolas, his face apologetic. "I am so sorry, Legolas. I can't believe I managed to forget it. I must have just not seen it or something… I'm sorry. You can have mine; I'll be alright."

Legolas did his best to swallow his anger, knowing full well it was unreasonable. "No, Aragorn. You will freeze. You humans are far worse than us at keeping off the cold," he said through gritted teeth.

Unfortunately, the young man saw through his words. "You're annoyed with me, aren't you?" He took a step backwards; about to hand his blankets to the elf, but a loud cracking sound stopped him in his tracks. Too late, he snatched his foot up, but the damage was already done.

Legolas' quiver of arrows lay beneath him, snapped and broken.

With a cry of anguish, the elf dived forwards and snatched the quiver up, cradling it as though it were a small child. He fell to his knees, carefully inspecting the damage. Elladan and Elrohir hurried to join him.

Aragorn stood frozen, unable to think straight. He knew how much Legolas' bow and arrows meant to him. What had he done? First the waterskin, then the bedroll, and now this. Forcing himself to move, he crouched next to the three elves.

"How – how bad is it?"

Legolas didn't move, but the tension in his body was impossible to miss. Painstakingly, he fingered each arrow, his slender elven fingers feeling the familiar weapons for even the slightest damage. The pile of now-useless arrows grew bigger as the minutes passed. Some of them Aragorn couldn't even see what was wrong with them, but he trusted the elf's judgement.

After what seemed like an age, Legolas looked up slowly, his blue eyes burning with anger. His head was throbbing and, dimly, he realised that he was about to do something he would regret if he didn't stop himself. But then his gaze fell on the broken arrows again, and any rational thought was swamped by fury.

"What have you _done_?" he hissed, jaw clenched.

Aragorn swallowed. "I – Legolas, I – I'm so—"

"Sorry?" the elf cried, surging to his feet. "_Sorry_? 'Sorry' can't get back my water bottle or give me something decent to sleep on tonight. 'Sorry' won't remake my arrows. Do you know how long it's going to take to repair these?"

"But I gave you my water," Aragorn said quickly, and immediately wished he hadn't spoken.

"You broke my arrows!" Legolas shouted. "I can't believe you at the moment! You are so _human_, so foolish; it is ridiculous to even _think _that _you _could be Isildur's heir – I fear for all Middle Earth if it truly is _you _who bears such a destiny!"

No one spoke. As the hot anger coursing through his veins began to cool, Legolas realised he'd crossed some invisible line, but there was little he could do about it now.

The hurt and shock in Aragorn's face was all too obvious. Even Elladan and Elrohir was staring at Legolas in disapproval – the subject of Aragorn's ancestry was a touchy topic at the best of times, and the twins had always defended their brother with heart and soul whenever it came up.

The silence stretched on and on, painfully tense, until at last the young Ranger got slowly to his feet so he stood at the same level as Legolas.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn said simply, refusing to look the elf in the eye. "Truly, I did not intend to do those things. I am sorry." The pain he felt laced every word.

And he walked away, wandering the darkness of the trees late into the night.

No one followed.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if Legolas is a little OOC in this chapter, it was kind of essential to the storyline – hopefully he'll be more in character in the next chapters. Aragorn torture will probably start either next chapter or the one after, by the way, just in case anyone wanted to know.**

**I'd love to hear of any improvements you'd like me to look at, so please leave a review! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, followed or favourited!**


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: Sorry for the wait – my aim is to update every Wednesday, but sometimes I have too much coursework or I have things to do or life in general just gets on top of me. But I'll do my best. Sorry this one's a bit short – this story just doesn't seem to want to come in longer chapters :P**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed :D Guest reviewers, I'd love it if you would leave some way of contacting you so I can reply to your reviews, or you could make an account on the site. Hope this chapter has Legolas a bit more in character ;)**

* * *

_He looked far, and he laughed at what he saw. It had been so easy to influence them all; to make them see what he wanted them to see. Everything was falling into place. The resistance that might have destroyed him would never come to pass._

_His plan had begun._

* * *

As the first pale fingers of the winter sun touched Legolas' face, he awoke.

He didn't move at first. He lay and listened to the singing of the birds; the crying of animals; the almost imperceptible whispering of the trees; straining his elven hearing to its fullest extent, reaching out into the world around him. The forest was singing with the music of life, almost aching with beauty and power - it made his heart beat fast with joy and excitement. He imagined he could hear the great Music, with which Ilúvatar brought the world into being, and the thought filled him with ridiculous happiness.

Eventually, though, Legolas pulled back to the small clearing by the stream where they had made their camp. The twins weren't awake yet; he could hear them breathing, quiet and even. But there was no other; no third person who should have been there.

Everything that had happened the night before flooded back.

The elf surged to his feet, looking around wildly. At the noise, Elladan and Elrohir broke free of their sleep and both unsheathed their knives, leaping upright and standing back-to-back, ready to face the danger. Legolas ignored them. He ran lightly to the stream, searching the ground for footprints, or tracks, or _something _to show where Aragorn had gone. Numbly, he realised that the man had taken his horse, and left his own bedroll and arrows underneath a tree. He grasped the fabric with cold fingers, unable to believe what he'd said to his best friend.

"He left an hour before the moon set," Elladan said eventually, breaking the silence. "The blankets and arrows are for you. He said to tell you again that he's sorry, and that he never meant for any of this to happen." There was more than a little accusation in his voice.

"Where?" Legolas whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brothers glance uncertainly at each other, wondering whether to tell him.

"To the north. He went to visit the Dunédain," answered Elladan after a second or two of quiet. "He told us not to follow… said he'd send word from Bree when he got there."

Legolas couldn't answer. All those things he'd said… How had he reacted so badly over something so _stupid_? He was the foolish one, not Aragorn. He deserved every kind of punishment there was for being so cruel to someone so gentle and kind.

Suddenly, Elladan interrupted his thoughts. "How could you?" he asked harshly, sounding as though he was trying to stop himself yelling. "How _could _you? You know how uncertain Estel is ever since Ada told him the truth of his ancestry! Everything he does, every decision he has to make - nothing is simple for him any more. Always he carries this burden of what is the _right thing_ to now _you_, his closest friend, have told him that he is unworthy of his destiny." He glared at Legolas angrily, but the elf was hardly listening. He was tacking up his horse, tying down the bedroll Aragorn had left for him and hurrying to pack everything up.

"I am more furious with myself than you could ever be with me," he said bitterly, as he picked up his bow and swung his half-empty quiver of arrows over his shoulder. "I cannot excuse what I did, and I cannot change it now." The twins were watching him, their faces expressionless. "But I can ask Aragorn's forgiveness and offer an apology, which he is more than able to – to refuse." He faltered slightly, fear of Aragorn doing just that making his blood run cold. Quickly, he mounted up on his horse, whispering quietly to the beautiful animal in Elvish.

"You are going after him," Elladan said quietly at last. He didn't sound quite so furious any more, but he definitely wasn't happy. Legolas had expected no less.

"I have to." Curiously, the elf looked at Elrohir, who hadn't taken his eyes off Legolas – but neither had he spoken. His face was unreadable, but somewhere in his brown eyes Legolas thought he saw a turmoil of emotion, twisting and turning with indecision. Then he lowered his gaze and the insight was gone.

"We're coming with you," Elladan said flatly.

For the first time what felt like a long time, Legolas almost smiled. "Then let us go."

* * *

Aragorn had ridden quickly through the night, stopping only to allow his horse a mouthful or two of water. He knew that together they could keep up a forced march pace for several days, but now that the shock of the confrontation with Legolas had worn off, he didn't really want to. Although taking the main road north had seemed a regrettable decision last night, now, in the morning sunlight, he was glad to be able to see where he was going.

It meant he didn't really have to concentrate.

He was alone with his thoughts, nothing to distract him. Not that that was really a good thing, because his thoughts weren't the most cheerful he'd ever had. And it was all his own fault.

_I fear for all Middle Earth if it is _you _who bears such a destiny._

Perhaps it was true, Aragorn thought miserably. Maybe Legolas was right. He couldn't possibly be Isildur's heir; the one who was supposed to bring about the end of Sauron's reign and wield again Narsil, the Blade That Was Broken. He was just a Ranger, a man of the north – a nobody. Skilled in woodcraft, perhaps, and with some ability at tracking, but really, apart from that, who was he?

"_You are my son, and you are the Heir of Isildur. You are Estel. You hold our hope, Aragorn, and one day I believe that you will bring about the Age of Men in all its splendour again. Never forget this, Aragorn son of Arathorn, because one day you _will_ matter, and the world may fall without you." _Elrond's voice echoed in his head, speaking again the words he had told Aragorn after he had revealed his true ancestry. The shock and uncertainty he had felt then were all too similar to how he felt now.

Aragorn continued to ride throughout the day, his horse's stride eating up the miles. At some point, a crash of thunder broke through his thoughts and the heavens opened, bringing the rain pouring down. In minutes he was soaked to the skin, but he didn't care. He rode on. He knew he had to reach Weathertop before dark – no sensible person stayed on the roads on a cold winter night, and despite his current frame of mind, his finely honed instincts as a Ranger refused to let him be so foolish.

Perhaps if Aragorn had been concentrating, he would have seen the tell-tale signs on the ground; the sounds in the trees around him. In fact, he almost certainly would have seen them. But Legolas' words were still heavy upon his young mind, and as a result, the things that should have been screaming at him that something was wrong, went unnoticed.

The attack came out of nowhere.

A huge Orc cannoned into Aragorn with an inhuman roar, sending him crashing off his horse into the mud. Scrambling to his feet, he dragged his sword out of its scabbard and narrowly managed to block a stroke that would have brought his life to an untimely end. There was no selfless elven brother to save him now, he realised.

Still dazed from the fall, Aragorn desperately parried again and again, aware all the time that more Orcs were swarming towards him. He was being driven further and further back into the trees. Gasping with pain as one of the huge wedges of iron the Orcs carried as weapons smashed down onto his shoulder, the man realised that there was no way he could win this fight. The creatures fought with brute force and the sheer weight of numbers, something that even a swordsman of Aragorn's skill could not overcome. Everything had changed so quickly.

If he could just get out of sight, he might be able to run far enough away to regain some kind of even ground. The rain was still pouring down and the horse had bolted long ago, but perhaps things would change… or so he hoped. He could feel his cold, already exhausted body tiring fast, no longer sustained by sheer adrenaline. Briefly, he glanced back and saw an opening in the trees behind him.

His heart told him this was the moment to run.

This was the only chance he would get.

He had to take it.

* * *

**A/N: …**


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: I'm so sorry this is really late – I had loads of coursework and I was playing in a concert and life just kind of ran away with me… But enough excuses. It's here now. I'll do my best to update in a week's time. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Aragorn's head pounded as the Orc ran.

It should have been obvious, he belatedly realised, that the surrounding trees were already filled with Orcs waiting to catch him. The moment he'd made a break for it, one of them had bashed him on the head and knocked him out cold. He could feel the annoying itch of the blood in his hair that told him he hadn't been unconscious long.

Trying to dispel the nausea rising in his stomach as the world bounced upside down (the Orc had thrown him unceremoniously across its shoulder), Aragorn wriggled his fingers experimentally and found his hands bound. He grimaced. The knots were barely loose enough to allow the blood to flow properly, and he knew, as a healer, that if they weren't loosened he could lose the use of his hands.

Scowling, the young Ranger raised his head and whacked the Orc's ugly hide as hard as he could, which at the moment wasn't saying much. "Put me down!" he shouted.

For a moment there was no reply. Then the creature shifted its weight slightly and sent Aragorn falling in an ungracious heap onto the ground. Undeterred, the man scrambled to his feet, ignoring the loud protests his body gave him as he did so.

"What do you want with me?" He spoke loudly, glaring up at the Orcs as they formed a circle round him. The rain was still pouring down, the dull clouds making it hard to tell what time of day it was, but he guessed it was early evening. A quick glance at his belt reminded him that his sword was gone, but he could still feel the dagger strapped to the inside of his calf, kept there in case of emergencies. This probably came under the category of emergency, he thought wryly, although with bound hands the dagger wasn't much use where it was.

"Shut it, filthy human," the biggest Orc grunted, obviously the leader. "I'd watch your step if I were you, 'cause there's nothing in our orders about keeping you pretty."

The Orcs laughed nastily, the sound ringing in Aragorn's ears. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised they were telling the truth. "Tell me where you're taking me. Who gave you the orders?" he asked defiantly.

The Orc's twisted face darkened with annoyance. "I said, _shut it_." It tried to clout Aragorn across the head, but the man was too quick, even in his current state. With an enraged roar, the Orc lunged at him, wildly swinging a long, jagged knife. Stumbling backwards, Aragorn came to the conclusion that perhaps infuriating the leader had _not_ been the best idea.

With a snarl, the creature finally reached him and took a swing at him again. Automatically, the young Ranger ducked. The rest of the Orcs were jeering at him, egging their leader on.

"What do you _want_?" Aragorn shouted, hoping that distraction tactics would work. "Who do you think I am? I'm a nobody, I don't have anything you could want from me!"

"You – are the one – _he _– wants," the Orc growled, taking slow steps towards him. Aragorn could see that mad glint in its eyes that told him he'd probably pushed things a bit too far. He could only hope the Orc's orders would stop it killing him. Then what the foul creature had said sank in. The man froze.

_You are the one _he _wants. _

"Who?" the Ranger gasped, clutching his shoulder as the pain began to overwhelm him again. "Who ordered you to find me? Who is 'he'?"

The fear must have shown in his face, because the leader let out a horrible chuckle and didn't answer. "Move out," it growled at the others. "He'll manage to walk. If he can't, drag him."

Through the fog of pain in his mind, Aragorn forced himself to focus. He would not give up. He _could not _give up. An Orc tied another rope to the one around his wrists and tugged it sharply, bringing him to his knees. The cruel laughter that followed brought a surge of anger on again, but he managed to control it. He was too weak to do anything, though he hated to admit it.

He would just have to bide his time.

* * *

Legolas had hardly slept.

They had ridden along the rode until the storm had broken out, at which point Elladan had pointed out that it was unlikely Aragorn would have continued in such bad conditions. Reluctantly, Legolas had agreed.

Now he wished he hadn't.

Their thoughts had been shattered in the early hours of the morning by a shrill whinny from the road. Their own horses had neighed in reply, trotting quickly up to the newcomer with the cheerful snorts of greeting that horses always make.

The cold hand of dread still clutched his heart when Legolas realised it was Aragorn's horse, even as he gently stroked the creature. It was calmer now, but its eyes had been rolling and its flanks drenched in sweat when they had first seen it.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to hold back the fear and worry he felt for his friend. Something terrible must have happened, he knew, and they were at least a day behind Aragorn, if not more. The only reason they hadn't left already was because it was still dark and raining, and Elladan had left to hunt just after moonrise and had not yet returned.

All the same, the waiting was driving Legolas crazy.

Suddenly, a gentle voice spoke beside him. "We will find Estel, Legolas. Fear not for that." It was Elrohir. Legolas did not turn round, carefully hiding his surprise – the elf had barely spoken to him since they had set out, and it had been hard to read his feelings.

"I know will, Elrohir. It is not that which causes me fear." He paused, uncertain for a moment, before continuing quietly. "It is _how _we shall find him."

The other elf was silent for a long while. "Estel is made of sterner stuff than we have yet seen, I think," he said at last. The sadness in his voice was barely concealed. "He will be alive."

Legolas spun round at last, unable to bear it any longer. "Are you angry with me, Elrohir?" he asked, looking his friend in the eye. "I cannot tell what you are thinking, but know that I am more sorry for what I did than could ever be expressed in words."

Again, Elrohir took his time before replying, holding Legolas' gaze all the while. "I do not know," he answered simply. "I do not understand my feelings myself. You hurt my brother deeply, Legolas, and in my heart I am too furious with you to know what to do with myself. But my mind wants to forgive you, and I – " he lowered his voice cautiously, " – I think that there is something else at work here."

Legolas' blue eyes widened in confusion at this revelation. "What do you mean, Elrohir? What are you talking about?"

"I will say no more now. But I think we must tell Ada what has happened."

"Of course – we could never have kept it from him, even if we did get Estel back home." Legolas swallowed at the look on the other elf's face, and hastily corrected himself. "I mean, _when _we get Estel back home."

"No, Legolas," Elrohir said quietly. "I am saying that we need to tell my father _now_. He needs to know."

The blonde elf was already shaking his head. "No! We cannot go back to Imladris. We _cannot_. I will not—"

"Don't you think I feel exactly the same as you?" Elrohir interrupted fiercely. "Estel, Aragorn, Dunédan – he will always be the same brother to me. One day he will be a great king of Men, Legolas, and he has a destiny beyond what any of us can see. But he is my _brother_, and Lord Elrond is my father, and though my heart wants to follow him until I find him, or I die trying, my head tells me that we must go back. Ada will know what to do. It will be better this way."

Legolas was silent, the internal turmoil he was facing almost too much to bear. But at last, he knew there was only one decision he could make. Slowly, he raised his head again, meeting Elrohir's anxious gaze.

"I will not leave him," he said, quiet but firm. "The tracks will be all but gone within the day if this rain continues, and Aragorn is only going to be further away the longer we wait. Listen to me," he raised a hand, seeing that the elf was about to protest. "Here is my plan. I will go after Aragorn – I am the fastest rider. You and Elladan will return to Imladris and inform Lord Elrond what has happened. Then he can send out a search, and together we will find him."

Elrohir looked uncertain. "You will be alone, Legolas. If we leave, we will not know where you _or _Estel are."

"I have to do this, Elrohir," Legolas insisted, almost pleading. His voice was low and painfully honest. It was a rare occurence for him to show so much of his feelings. "This is my fault. It is because of my own foolish words that Estel is gone, and we do not know where. I must find him. If anything has happened to him…." He trailed away, unable to voice what he felt, but Elrohir understood. Gently, he rested a hand on Legolas' shoulder.

"Go," he told his friend quietly, though it hurt him to say it; it hurt to say that he truly was going to leave both Aragorn and Legolas behind. It felt too much like running away. But this was the only plan that would work. "Return to Imladris in five days time, by sunset. I do not want to tell my father we need a search party for you too."

Legolas frowned slightly. "I will return when I have found Estel."

"Let me have my way in this, _mellon nin_. Please, come back in five days at the latest. If you have not caught up with him by then, I think you will be unable to do it alone."

The blonde elf looked a mildly surprised. "You think I cannot do this?"

Elrohir shook his head. "No, Legolas. I only think that… It matters not. Will you return?"

"Very well," he answered reluctantly. Elrohir nodded, not particularly happy with the arrangement, but satisfied.

Not long after, a single cloaked rider galloped down the road, fast disappearing into the rain. Behind him, one of the two figures standing watching him, raised a hand in farewell. But the rider did not look back.

Many hundreds of miles away, someone else watched from afar, with more than a little malicious intent. He felt a surge of amusement.

It had just been so easy.

* * *

**A/N: Please leave a review and tell me what you think! Also, are there any Merlin fans reading this story? Cos I'm so excited about this week's episode! And I'm really sad that this really is the last series… :'(**


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N: I am so sorry for how late this is… I know, I'm awful at updating ****But y'know, it was my birthday, I needed to go Christmas shopping, I had tonnes of coursework… etc. You don't really want my excuses.**

**Thanks for all your wonderful reviews – you guys are awesome! Sorry if my guesses of how long it would take to travel distances are a bit off in this chapter – I literally was just guessing! **

**Who's seen the Hobbit? I loved it! Especially Thorin and Kili!**

* * *

_"How long?" he hissed. His voice was like the screech of metal against metal, and he felt a surge of satisfaction as the Orc visibly shuddered at the sound._

_"Depends how fast they move, my Lord. They could be—" It stopped abruptly as he crushed it against the wall, enjoying the look of terror on its twisted face._

"_How many days, fool?" He released it just enough to allow it to speak. _

"_A week – maybe eight or nine days," it gasped._

_He rose to his full height, staring down with contempt at the creature cowering on the floor. "Prepare," he said. _

* * *

"Get up!" An iron-toed boot slammed into Aragorn ribs and his eyes flashed open. It took all his willpower not to give the Orc the satisfaction of hearing him groan in pain.

The cold, merciless eyes stared down at his for a moment, before repeating what it had just said. "Move." At the slight sigh that escaped the man's lips, it gave him one more vicious kick for good measure, and turned away.

Sitting up slowly, Aragorn was surprised to find that the short, restless sleep had actually done his battered body a world of good. Aside from his now-aching ribs and the leftover bruising from the fight, most of the rest of him seemed to be in good working order – or at least, as good as could be expected. There was still a faint throbbing in his head, and his shoulder felt a bit stiff and sore where he'd fallen on it off his horse, but both were easily bearable.

With another grim sigh, the young man got to his feet. It was still dark, and frost crackled under his feet as his shifted slightly, trying to warm up. He shivered. Somehow, he had managed to keep hold of his cloak since the attack, and now he was glad of the thick, warm fabric – it was probably the only thing that had kept him alive in the cold of the night, he thought wryly.

Gradually, as he watched the Orcs get up and begin to get ready to move on, Aragorn became aware of another uncomfortable sensation in his stomach. Hunger. He almost laughed out loud – it seemed ridiculous that after everything that had happened, his body was still crying out for food. But after a moment or two, the slight smile faded from his face. He hadn't eaten or drank for at least two days, he estimated, and there would be no chance of escaping if he hadn't the strength to do so. With another heavy sigh, he realised he was going to have to do something about that pretty soon.

Destroying the peace of Aragorn's thoughts, a heavy hand slammed down on his shoulder. "Move, human," an Orc snarled, it's face about an inch from his. The Ranger recoiled in disgust at the stink of the creature's breath, then doubled over as it kneed him in the stomach.

"I need to eat," he managed to gasp, winded. The Orc looked down at him with something close to disdain in its eyes, if that were possible. Reluctantly, Aragorn gritted his teeth in self-disgust and added, "Please."

Without deigning to give him a reply, it turned away. The young man slowly straightened up and leaned against a tree, gingerly feeling his ribs and stomach. Where before there had been only a slight pain, now it felt like they were on fire. Several particularly painful lumps brought him to the conclusion that a few of his ribs were broken, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it now. He resigned himself to bearing it until he could get away and hoped it wasn't bad enough to damage his lungs. The idea was less than comforting, but the idea of getting away brightened his thoughts slightly as he began to plan for a chance to get away.

Coming back to present, Aragorn watched with a sense of foreboding as the Orc that had just kicked him marched through the closely-growing trees towards him again. With a slight surge of surprise, he saw that it was carrying a waterskin in its hand.

"Drink it," the creature growled, thrusting the water into Aragorn's face. The man did so, gulping the water down and sighing with relief. It felt like his body was finally waking up properly again, despite the slightly bitter, brackish taste. Briefly, he wondered whether it might be drugged, but he was too thirsty to care. It took all his willpower to stop gulping after half a minute or so, remembering that drinking it too fast would only make him throw up.

When the skin was about half empty, the Orc snatched it away again, none too gently. Chuckling silently to himself, Aragorn realised that though the leader of his captors had obviously ordered for him to be given water, none of the others were particularly happy about it. He wondered why, but the thought didn't really bother him. It didn't seem to matter now that his thirst had been quenched.

The group set off while the world was still in its pre-dawn darkness. The Orcs had clearly travelled this way before, because there was no way they could navigate by the stars in such dense trees. Through the occasional gaps in the foliage, as far as Aragorn could see there were very few stars visible, anyway. Their absence made him feel oddly lonely. The stars could always be seen in Rivendell… He could remember lying in the grass by the river, gazing up at them with Legolas and the twins, and his heart ached with sadness suddenly. Legolas' last words to him sprang into his thoughts again. It seemed unlikely they would ever lie in the peace of Imladris again, watching the stars with nothing else to trouble them.

* * *

Legolas bent with his head to the cold, frost-covered rock, and groaned in frustration. He had seen Aragorn do this so many times that he'd expected it to be simple.

He shook his head and sprang lithely to his feet, leaping lightly up the rock to look out over the forest from a higher vantage point. Evidently tracking was not as easy as it seemed when you had spent so many years watching an expert do it. _If only you were here, mellon nin_, the elf thought to himself, and immediately remembered that if Aragorn was with him he wouldn't be here at all.

It was a sobering thought.

With a sigh, Legolas turned his attention to the dark mass of trees spread out below, his far-seeing elf eyes seeing everything for miles around. Not that there was much to see. The forest, as always, was reluctant to give up its secrets, and after a minute or two of fruitless staring, he jumped down from the rock again.

"We shall just have to hope we are following in Estel's footsteps, shall we not, _mellon nin_?" he said quietly to his horse, stroking its muzzle gently. It nibbled his hand and nickered affectionately, unsettled by the underlying tone of sadness and worry in its master's voice.

Legolas smiled faintly. "Worry not for me, Haladras. It is Estel whom we must find." He mounted quickly, trotted carefully down the slope back to the road and continued along the route he had been maintaining since he'd left Elrohir and Elladan that morning.

He had a bad feeling that, no matter how much he wanted the young man who had been his friend and companion for so many years to be safe, something was wrong about this situation. There was something they'd missed… Something that should have been obvious. And there was that nagging sensation at the back of Legolas' mind that whatever it was, things were not going to turn out well.

* * *

It was a little after midday when Legolas sensed a change in the trees around him. It was still grey and overcast, as it had been all day, but now he felt an added atmosphere of hostility and tension in the air.

Trained to respond instantly to its rider's commands in battle, Haladras baulked at the slightly tighter grip Legolas took on the reins, crabbing round sideways in the road.

"Easy, boy. Easy," the elf muttered distractedly, scanning the trees for any sign of danger. There was a sharp bend in the road a couple of hundred metres away, he noticed, and past experience told him it would be an ideal place for an ambush.

Nudging his heels gently against the horse's sides and encouraging it softly in Elvish, he rode forwards, every sense on high alert. He took in every movement of the trees lining the sides of the road; heard every sound around him. But the moment he could see the road straightening out again beyond the corner, he knew nothing was wrong – at least, not in terms of immediate danger. Whatever had happened here had happened some time ago.

Coming to a stop and dismounting smoothly, Legolas dropped to a crouch and studied the ground. Though most of the tracks had been washed away the heavy rain, it was clear even to his untrained eyes that there had been some kind of fight here less than two days before.

He darted into the fringe of the forest and laid a hand gently against the trunk of on of the larger trees, feeling the raw, colourful emotions of the being. After a moment, he closed his eyes and stepped away to examine the tracks on the ground again, a cold hand of dread clutching his heart.

He had been right – there _had _been a battle here; an ambush. Orcs had hidden in the trees on the corner, waiting for their prey. They had been careless, breaking the branches of the trees and wounding them with their weapons. Legolas felt a surge of anger towards them, but forced himself to concentrate. Who was it the Orcs had been waiting for?

That was the moment when a glint of light caught on something in the corner of his eye, hidden under mud and leave and dirtied by the rain. Even before he picked it up, he knew what it was. He had guessed he might find it from the moment he felt the anger of the trees.

A sword – _the _sword.

The sword he had seen so many times, covered in enemy blood or hanging in its sheath on its master's belt. The sword that he had seen flashing and whirling as though it had a mind of its own, bringing destruction to anyone on the receiving end. The sword that, now, spoke volumes to the anguished elf holding it gently in his hands.

"Oh, Aragorn," Legolas cried to the empty forest. "What have I done?"

* * *

**A/N: Again, sorry it was so late. I'll do my best to update again in a week or two, but it's Christmas and New Year, so I might not get an awful lot of writing done. **

**Hope you're all still enjoying it – tell me what you're thinking!**


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N: I cannot apologize enough for the appallingly long time since I last updated. Forgive me?**

* * *

_A day and a half later_

The two horses came galloping over the bridge that crossed the river just as the winter sun began to rise towards its zenith, their riders' cloaks streaming out behind them as they bent low over the horses' necks. The sky was a clear, cold blue, and snow had fallen on the hard ground some time in the night before.

Many turned and watched the pair as they went by, some calling out greetings and raising their hands to wave. But they did not stop. It was only afterwards that those watching realised something must have been wrong, terribly wrong, for the two to ignore their friends.

Finally slowing to a canter and then a fast trot, with hooves clattering on the stone flags, the riders reached the bottom of the steps into Imladris. The one they needed to speak with had been told of their coming and was waiting for them there already.

"My sons," Lord Elrond said in Elvish, his tone nor his dark eyes betraying not a hint of emotion. "You have returned earlier than I expected. Where are Estel and Legolas? What has happened?"

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, hearts still pounding from the speed of the ride, and dismounted.

"_Ada_, Legolas has gone after Estel," rushed Elrohir, and immediately realised that his words raised more questions than they answered. Elrond's raised eyebrows said as much.

"Explain yourself," he said.

Telling their story took only as long as it took to walk inside the halls of Imladris, and by the time they had finished, Elrond's usually impassive face had fallen into a disturbed frown.

"What do you mean, Legolas was ill?" he asked, staring at his sons. "You know we cannot become sick unless it is due to injury or poison. Yes, Legolas had fallen in the river, but I made sure he was sufficiently recovered before you left."

Elrohir and Elladan looked at each other in confusion. It was so _obvious_ now, but how had they not realised it at the time?

"And another thing. What in Middle Earth possessed you to leave Legolas alone to go after Aragorn?"

Again, the twins stared in turn at each other, and then at their father. Elladan put a hand to his head, frowning.

"It doesn't make any sense," he said quietly. "It seemed like exactly the right thing to do…" He looked up, his eyes fearful. "What have we done? Now both Legolas and Estel are out there, alone—"

"I do not believe this is any fault of yours, my son," Elrond interrupted, laying a hand gently on his son's shoulder. But he could see his words offered little comfort. "Listen to me," he said resignedly. They looked up simultaneously. "I have… suspected for some time now that all is not well in Imladris any longer, and what you have told me confirms my fears."

"Something is working among us – something evil. Am I right?" Elrohir's expression was a confused mixture of fear, worry and, now, a glimmer of hope.

Elrond narrowed his eyes. "You are correct. How did you know?"

"I felt much the same thing the day we left Legolas to follow Estel, as though something was watching us from afar. It was a kind of… heaviness, somehow. I assumed it was just out of fear for our friends, but later I began to wonder."

The older elf was nodding. "It was Legolas' words that gave it away – _'it is ridiculous to even think that you could be Isildur's heir'_. Aragorn may have broken those arrows, but that has nothing whatsoever to do with his bloodline. Those were the words of – something else…" He trailed away, staring out over the valley.

"And it was completely unlike Legolas to ever say anything like that," added Elladan. "He knows how Estel feels about all that; usually he's the most sensitive of all of us over it. I mean, we tease him, but nothing serious – we've never said something as cruel as Legolas did." He was unable to keep the accusation out of his voice, and it did not go unmissed by Elrond. But he chose not to comment.

"Do you remember," he began, without turning round, "the Orc host that we fought off on the northern border? We were all there, I think, both of you, Legolas, Aragorn and I."

"Estel was leading us," Elrohir recalled. "But that was months ago. And there was nothing special about those Orcs; they were just like any others."

"No! Don't you remember?" Elladan cried. "That was the group with the commander in it – the highest authority among the Orcs from Minas Morgul."

"The one who reports directly to—"

"The witch-king of Angmar," Elrond finished.

* * *

Aragorn was running.

The branches whipped back in his face, making his eyes stream, and he was painfully aware of his cracked ribs every time he tried to draw breath, but he knew he had to keep moving. A chance like this wouldn't come again.

It had been sheer luck that he'd found such a sharp rock beside him when the Orcs had thrown him down to strike camp. He'd lain awake for hours, unable to sleep because of the cold, painstakingly sawing away at the tough ropes that bound him. After the first few nights on the move, the Orcs had apparently come to the conclusion that he was not going to try to escape or cause trouble and that there was no need for a guard – but he still froze every time one of them shifted in their sleep. The tension had been almost unbearable, but at last he'd felt the knots give and fall away.

Then he'd run, and he'd been going ever since.

Suddenly, a savage howl shattered the icy night air. Aragorn's blood ran cold and he stumbled to a halt, his breath coming in short gasps. He knew that sound. With trembling fingers, he reached down and unstrapped the knife from his inner leg. Not that it would realistically do much good.

The young man moved off again, resisting a groan as his aching muscles protested. He became aware for the first time that the ground was covered in snow – the trees were beginning to thin out a little. Moving slower now was essential, taking more care to keep quiet. His head was throbbing and blood was oozing down his forehead again, from the wound he'd sustained in the first fight with the Orcs.

Now that Aragorn wasn't moving as fast, the heat generated by the running seemed to leach out of his body and within minutes he was shivering. As a healer, he knew the dangers of hypothermia, but right now he had more important things to occupy his mind. Like, the source of that howl, for instance. If it truly had been what he thought it was…

It seemed only moments before the Ranger reached the river, but the rational part of his mind told him it was the cold distorting everything. It was frozen, covered in a deathtrap combination of thick ice and crisp snow on top, shining eerily in the moonlight after the darkness of the trees.

Aragorn could have shouted with frustration. He should have known it would be frozen, but he'd been desperately hoping he might be able to wade across and break his scent. Now he was going to have to try and get over the ice without slipping, falling in, or leaving tracks that were _too _obvious. Even if he'd been on full form, he would have found it hard to cover all the prints in the snow, but now it would be nearly impossible.

More collective howls and yelling signalled that pursuit was not far enough behind, and Aragorn steeled himself to step onto the ice. He could hear someone – or some_thing _– crashing through the forest nearby, but some sixth sense told him they wouldn't find him. They were heading in the wrong direction and making too much noise to hear any he might make.

Then a twig cracked, right behind him.

The Warg emerged from the shadow of the trees just as the Ranger spun round, battle-hardened reflexes ensuring his one remaining weapon was at the ready.

Aragorn swallowed. He'd been right. It was a huge creature, a Nargabad Warg by the looks of it, with thick fur matted with blood and dirt and horribly watchful yellow eyes. A low rumble ground out from the depths of its throat, and somehow the quiet sound was more terrifying to Aragorn than a deafening snarl ever could have been. Its Orc rider cackled hysterically, brandishing its weapon.

The young man took a step back, his breaths coming fast already. His ribs were aching; his head throbbing. Absently, he swiped the blood out of his eyes with the back of his hand, his gaze never leaving the Warg's yellow eyes.

This was a battle he couldn't win. He was going to die here. The thought came with a peculiar sense of calmness, as though, really, he'd known it all along. It had been bound to happen; written in his destiny since before time began.

But he wouldn't go down without a fight.

A grim smile tugged at his lips. No, he wouldn't leave this world easily. Perhaps this was the place of his death, but that didn't mean he would forsake the values that he had kept to all his life. Aragorn narrowed his eyes, drawing himself up tall, looking for weaknesses in the Warg's body. Its hind foot was raised slightly off the ground – perhaps it had been injured slightly during the pursuit… But it didn't really matter. Any weakness on its part was an advantage on his.

He realised his mistake as the Warg launched itself into the air, in the split second before it crashed into him with so much force that all the air was forced out of his lungs. In looking for the creature's weaknesses, he'd taken his eyes off the Warg's foul yellow ones, and it had taken its chance while he was distracted.

Gasping, Aragorn rolled away, feeling a sudden cold dampness seeping into his clothes. They were on the ice. The Warg snarled ferociously and lunged at him again, sinking its teeth into his upper arm. Unable to help himself, he screamed in agony and desperately tried to rip the limb away from the searing pain, but the creature held fast and simply dug in deeper.

The Ranger continued to yank his arm away, scratching at its eyes with his free hand, but to no avail. The creature ripped its claws into his stomach and flipped him over so he was face down in the snow and his arm was twisted cruelly behind him. Whimpering in pain, Aragorn suddenly felt the glorious touch of hardened leather on his fingertips and swung blindly at the Warg with the knife, feeling nothing but overwhelming relief as the blade bit and his arm was released.

Swaying dizzily, he stumbled to his feet and took several steps away from the beast before falling to his knees, clutching his injured arm. The Warg let out another blood-curdling growl, pacing slowly round him in a tight circle, but to Aragorn it seemed as if the sound was coming from a long way off. There was blood all over his clothes, and it was spurting constantly between his fingers as he gripped the wound tightly. _I'm going to die_, he thought, and this time there was no welcome sense of calm and acceptance. Only panic; panic and a raw, primal fear like that of cornered prey about to be killed.

Other Wargs and Orcs were emerging onto the riverbank now, and among them he vaguely recognised the leader of the group that had captured him. His vision was blurring now and he had to concentrate to even work out where the Warg pacing around him was.

"Going to kill me, then, are you?" the man asked, and then doubled over coughing. Blood spattered the snow. _Not good_. "I don't know why. I don't know what you want. You don't know what I think you want." A little voice in the back of his mind told him he wasn't making any sense, but he ignored it. Distraction was the only card he had left to play.

"You deserve death," the Orc leader growled.

Then a blinding, crippling pain exploded in Aragorn's midriff and he let out a short, desperate cry of pain as he fell back onto the snow-covered ice. Dimly, he heard the Orc yell something out, but it didn't matter what it was. He looked down and saw, to his utter disbelief, his own knife embedded in his stomach. The knife that had saved his life so many times, now thrown by an Orc to kill him.

His hands were red. Childishly, he had a vague idea that he wished they'd been clean when he died. Now he'd have blood on his hands forever.

His last thought was, _Legolas, I'm sorry._

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I really don't like this chapter. Firstly, the muse has totally run away so I'm really sorry but I have no idea when the next update will , before it ran away, it hijacked my story and turned it into this. I swear, this wasn't meant to happen. And finally, the timings are all mixed up so techinically the part with Aragorn happened before the bit with the twins. Sorry. This is a rubbish chapter and I'm really sorry it took so long, I know it wasn't really worth the wait.**


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